


Catching the Light

by yousee_saros (all_ivvant)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Lighthouses, M/M, Selkies, some modifications of selkie lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_ivvant/pseuds/yousee_saros
Summary: When Ryan washes up on the rocks below the lighthouse during a storm, Mark doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.
Relationships: Mark Barberio/Ryan Graves
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: 2 Hots: #boysarehot Avs Valentines 2020 fic challenge





	Catching the Light

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [heartequals (savvygambols)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals) in the [2hots](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2hots) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Anyone/Ryan Graves
> 
> Someone lives and works alone in a haunted lighthouse off the coast of Nova Scotia. It’s lonely and boring until Gravy washes up on the rocks below the lighthouse one winter after a big storm. There’s no sign of his ship though and he’s pretty cagey about (or doesn’t remember) how he ended half-drowned at the lighthouse.
> 
> title from What a Feeling by One Direction. I hope you enjoy it!!

Ryan still doesn’t know how the hell he’s managed to get this far. He escaped with just the clothes on his back, leaving even his coat behind. He had found an abandoned rowboat at the beach a month ago, and had spent all of the very little free time getting it ready to make his escape, and now that he’s finally done it, he has no clue where to go. 

The sea stretches out in front of him, and Ryan longs to feel the water against his skin. He’s missed the ocean, swimming whenever he wanted to. 

He works to propel himself against the waves, and there’s nothing but seabirds and the occasional fish as he tries to make his way towards an island he saw from the beach. Maybe if he can make it there, there’ll be someone to help him.

He watches as the clouds begin to darken above his head. He didn’t see the weather forecast before he left, too busy trying to get out the door when his captors weren’t looking. There was screaming and shouting once they found out he had left, he was sure of it. 

The wind begins to pick up as the sky gets darker and darker as the sun goes down. The clouds had already covered the sky when he had left, casting a gloomy grey light over the small seaside village he had been trapped in for months. 

The sea splashes against the side of the boat, as the oars slice through the water. Ryan has no clue where the hell he’s going, but he hopes that he can find land soon enough. 

The first rain drops begin to fall, splattering on his skin. It turns into heavy, driving rain fast enough, and Ryan’s hair is plastered to his forehead, his clothes clinging to his skin, heavy with water. The sun’s set at this point, so Ryan has no clue where in the hell he’s going, but he tries to continue on the direction he had been traveling in, squinting through the rain. 

A bright beam of light cuts through the darkness, illuminating the droplets of rain that are falling around him. Ryan looks up, and sees a large lighthouse looming in the not so far distance. The light swings around again, as a gust of wind rocks the boat, tipping ominously. Ryan swears, and works to try and right the boat. 

He struggles against the waves, and doesn’t see the rocks that the lighthouse ahead is warning against. Ryan looks up, just as the boat slams into a large rock. The rocks below the water scrape against the hull of the boat, and pitch Ryan forwards. He goes flying, airborne for a few seconds, hitting the water with a splash. He sinks beneath the waves, his lungs burning for air as he goes further and further under the water. He kicks hard, trying to swim back towards the surface.

His head breaks the surface of the water, and Ryan gasps for air. He hears loud splintering sounds, as his rowboat is smashed to pieces against the rocks. Ryan doesn’t see the sharp rock in front of him, slamming into it. He shouts, mostly because of the pain. His side hurts, like something’s broken. He feels like throwing up. 

Ryan gets tossed around in the waves like a rag doll, because the ocean is no longer his friend. He slips below the waves, and is twisted and turned beneath the surface. He slams his head on the rocks below, and comes back up, disoriented. 

He gasps for breath, his vision growing blurry. He has no clue which way is which, and struggles to breath, his side burning in agony. Ryan flails, as the water turns him over and over. The water stings, and his eyes burn. Ryan’s eyes slide shut, lids growing heavy.

***

The weather turns to shit in the mid afternoon. Clouds had been gathering since at least noon, heavy with rain. Mark had watched it begin to roll in that afternoon, the sky getting darker with each passing minute. The bright beam of the lighthouse was lit now, as it swept across the dark, choppy water. There hadn’t been any ships coming into shore, but Mark sees a small dinghy sailing towards a patch of sharp rocks.

He stands up, grabbing his binoculars off the table, and he peers out towards the small vessel. It looks like there’s someone on the boat, huddled near the bow, but it’s so dark he can hardly tell. He prays that the beam of the lighthouse will be enough to warn whoever is in the boat of the dangerous rocks ahead. Unfortunately, it isn’t.

He watches in horror, as the small boat slams against the rocks that the beam is warning against. The boat splits into hundreds upon hundreds of small wooden pieces, but Mark sees for a split second, a small dark shape floating above the water. It vanishes in the waves, and Mark swears. 

Grabbing his raincoat, he heads downstairs, grabbing a lantern to take with him in the storm. The wind is howling, and he can see rain lashing the windows as he takes two steps at a time, following the dizzying spiral of stairs down. He gets to the door, and struggles to open it, finally forcing it open. 

Mark is soaked to the skin almost immediately, as the wind pushes him every which way. The waves pound the rocks that surround the lighthouse, as Mark lifts his lantern to find his way. He sees nothing at first, but as he comes up around the other side of the lighthouse after looping around once, he sees a dark haired man lying on the rocks. 

His body is propped up awkwardly on some of the flatter rocks, limbs sprawled out around him. Mark picks his way through the slick rocks, trying to reach him before the waves take him away again. He has no clue if the man is even alive, or if Mark is risking his own life for a corpse. 

He finally reaches the man, and bends down to better inspect him. He finds that the man is still breathing, but only barely. He’s not wearing any wet weather gear, and he’s soaking wet (which would be the case even if it wasn’t raining). Mark reaches down to lift the man up, but as soon as Mark touches him, he wakes up. 

“Who are you?” He asks, barely audible above the sound of the storm. 

“I’m the lighthouse keeper. Are you hurt?” Mark asks. The man tries to sit up, not answering Mark’s question. He groans, and clutches at his side. 

“I don’t really know, but I think I might be.” He says, looking up at Mark, a grimace playing across his face. Mark helps him to his feet, letting him lean against Mark. They navigate their way around the sharp rocks and treacherous gravel that surrounds the base of the lighthouse. 

The rain continues to pour, as Mark helps the man get inside the lighthouse. They’re both soaking wet, and the water drips off their clothes, and creates puddles on the wooden floor of the lighthouse. The man shivers, as Mark strips off his soaked rain coat. The water drips onto the floor with a steady rhythm, as the storm howls outside.

Mark’s living quarters are up the stairs, and he helps the man up the spiraling staircase. His shoes squeak on the metal stairs, and Mark notices that the man isn’t wearing any shoes at all. His body shakes, trembling like the cold. 

“It’s okay, we’re almost there.” Mark tells him, as they climb the final few stairs. The door to Mark’s living quarters opens with a little bit of difficulty, the hinges squeaking as the door opens up. 

Mark helps the man inside the door, as the warmth from the small oven in the corner washes over them. Mark makes sure to pull up one of the chairs to the oven from the kitchen table. He helps the man to the seat, and then goes to the linen closet, and grabs a towel so the man can dry off. 

After setting the lantern down, Mark turns to face him, the light throwing a sharp relief over his face. 

“Do you want me to look at your side? You did say something about it hurting.” Mark says, making his way over to the man. He winces in pain as he takes a breath, looking up at Mark. 

“I think it might be my rib? It, shit, hurts a lot.” He says, grimacing. Mark kneels down, and rests his hand on the man’s hand, where it’s pressed against his side. 

“Can I take a look?” Mark asks, and he nods. Mark moves his hand underneath the man’s shirt, pressing his fingers against his side. The man winces again, as Mark finds the cracked rib. 

“Is it bad?” He asks, looking down at Mark. 

“It’s only a broken rib, nothing worse. You’ll be okay, no need to worry about it too much.” Mark says, getting up from where he had knelt down on the floor. “Oh, uh by the way, I’m Mark, the lighthouse keeper. Thought I should introduce myself, you know, at the very least.”

“Nice to meet you Mark, I’m Ryan.” He says, intending to shake Mark’s hand but decides against it, the motion causing him to wince in pain. 

“I would really advise against you moving much, at least right now. Our biggest concern is making sure you don’t catch a cold or something. I should have something you can wear, at least for tonight.” Mark says, going to go fetch something from the dresser on the other side of the room, near his bed. 

He grabs some clothes that Ryan can borrow, and turns around. He’s not expecting to see him standing there, having stripped down out of his clothes. Mark doesn’t turn red, or maybe he does, but he’s pretty sure that it’s covered up by his beard. At least he hopes it is. 

He’s got on only boxers, and even those almost come off, Mark stopping him by clearing his throat. Ryan turns around, eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights. It doesn’t help that his eyes are deep and brown, just like a doe. 

“Oh! I was just trying to get out of these soaked clothes, you know, don’t want to catch a cold or anything.” He says, fingers hooked in the waistband of his underwear. It really doesn’t leave much to the imagination, the wet fabric clinging to him like a second skin. Mark twists the night shirt he’s holding in his hands, trying not to do anything rash. He doesn’t even know the guy!

“Yeah, that’s no problem. I have this shirt, if you want it.” Mark says, walking over to Ryan. He hands him the shirt, and then turns around, walking back towards the other side of the room, gathering up Ryan’s discarded clothing on the way over. 

He drapes it over the chair next to the stove, water dripping off, pooling on the floor. His pants will be stiff as a board tomorrow, but Mark can’t wash anything yet, because he’s out of laundry powder and needs to go get some in the morning. 

Mark turns back around, and sees Ryan’s got his long, lanky body just barely covered by the night shirt. His face is pink, and he looks a little embarrassed, tugging on the hem of the night shirt. 

“It’s a little short.” He says, looking over at Mark with those same big brown eyes. 

“Yeah, uh, it’s all I got. I just wanted to let you know, you can have the bed. I’ve gotta go back upstairs and keep an eye on the light.” Mark tells him, nodding over at the bed. It’s close to the stove, which emits a soft glow, the wood burning down. Mark had put some more wood in the stove, because Ryan was going to be down here while Mark was up in the operation room. 

“Oh, okay.” He says, looking over at the bed. Mark had already gotten out enough blankets, because he knew that the wood stove wasn’t going to be enough to heat up the small room.  
“Yeah, I’m gonna head back upstairs, so make yourself at home. You don’t need to catch a cold or something.” Mark replies, heading towards the stairs. 

The wind howls, as it swirls around the outside of the lighthouse, shaking the window panes. Mark looks out the window, as he climbs the spiral staircase back to the operation room. He really doesn’t understand why anyone would be out tonight, especially since the weather is this ugly.

***

Ryan wakes up, disoriented, not really sure where he is. He almost screams when he hears the sound of Mark walking down the stairs. He sits up, the blankets pooling around his legs, and can’t help the groan, as he feels a sharp pain in his side. He lays back down, as the sunlight filters through the room.

His memories of the night before come back slowly, remembering that he almost drowned last night, that he can’t swim like he used to be able to. The sharp pain in his side reminds him that he’s cracked a rib or two, and the pounding headache is another painful reminder of the rocks he slammed into. 

Mark walks into the room right around then, and Ryan looks up at him, not recognizing him for a moment. 

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, and Ryan looks over at Mark, nodding, just barely, the pillow restricting his movements a little bit. He sighs, looking back up at the ceiling. The storm’s died down, and the sun is back out again. Ryan really just wants to sleep. 

Over the next few minutes, or maybe it’s hours, he’s not really sure, Ryan drifts in and out of sleep, as Mark moves around the small kitchen, making breakfast and coffee. Ryan finally wakes up enough, still a little disoriented, as the smell of coffee drifts through the small room. 

Mark’s leaning against the counter, as Ryan sits up, his head still throbbing. 

“You alright? Or at least feeling a little better?” He asks, as Ryan carefully gets out of bed, trying not to aggravate his cracked ribs. 

“I still feel like shit, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ryan replies, reaching for the mug of coffee Mark offers him. He sips the coffee slowly, as it burns hot in his mouth. He looks at Mark, who’s still making some bacon. It sizzles in the pan, and Ryan sneaks a glance at him, in his long sleeved shirt, and halfway done up coveralls. 

Ryan sips at his coffee, not risking another glance over.

***

Mark’s still not really sure why Ryan was out in that storm last night. He’s been turning over the several forms of the same question over in his head for the past hour, as he runs errands in town. He picks up laundry powder, and food for the week, getting extra because he has Ryan there too.

Mark’s still thinking through what he wants to ask Ryan, not really sure where to start, when he sees a missing poster stuck to a pole. The photo is grainy, but Mark recognizes that it’s Ryan, looking at him with those same brown eyes. He reaches up, and pulls the missing poster off the pole, reading it.

**Missing: Ryan Graves**

**Last seen: February 9th**

**Please contact (728)-716-5428 if you have any information**

**We miss him very much!**

He reads it carefully, looking back at the picture. Mark folds up the poster, and tucks it into the bag of groceries that he’s holding. Now he’s got more questions, but at least he knows where exactly to start when he talks to Ryan later.

When he gets back to the lighthouse a little later, he’s almost forgotten the poster. Ryan’s helping him unpack the groceries, and he stops, holding a can in his hand. 

“Holy shit.” He says, Mark turning around to look at him. Ryan’s unfolded the paper, looking at his own face staring back at him, eyes scanning the text below the picture. 

“What is it?” Mark asks, as Ryan’s fingers crumple the paper a little bit. He looks up at Mark, face unreadable.

“I can’t believe it.” 

“Can’t believe what?” Mark asks, not really sure what’s going on. Ryan hasn’t really told him anything, so he’s under the assumption that someone who cares about him is looking for him. That’s why he grabbed the poster in the first place. 

“Can’t believe those people are looking for me. Did you see any more of those posters in town? I assume that’s where you got this one. Jesus Christ.” He says, muttering the last part under his breath. Ryan seems to fold into himself a little bit, seeming shorter than he really is. 

“I just saw one poster. I thought you might want to see it. Did you run away from the people who made that poster?” Mark asks, and Ryan looks back up at him. 

“I did, but they have my coat. I need to go back and get it, but if I do, I’ll never be able to leave. I didn’t mean to leave it, but I was in a hurry.” Ryan explains, not really saying what they, whoever these people are, have. 

“Are you sure that you need to get it? If you’re risking your life, going back into a dangerous situation, I don’t know if that would be the best idea, going after it. I’ll pay for a new coat, because I don’t want you to get hurt.” Mark says. 

“I don’t think you understand. I need to get it, because it’s not just any coat, it’s a sealskin. I’m stuck like this,” Ryan says, gesturing at himself, “unless I get it back.” 

“Wait, you mean, like a sealskin, like a selkie?” Mark asks, expecting Ryan to laugh at him, call him crazy. And maybe he’d be right, he’s been stuck on this island for years, ever since he stopped playing hockey. But Ryan doesn’t laugh at him.

“Exactly like a selkie. That’s why I need to get it back, because I’m screwed without it. I wouldn’t be injured if I had it, for one thing.” Ryan says, grabbing the paper off the counter. 

“Are you going to go by yourself to get it? That’s not very safe, you know. I could go with you, so you have someone to help you.” Mark offers, as Ryan stares down at the text on the poster. He folds up the paper, and finally sets it back down, looking angrier the longer he stares at it. 

“I have to get it myself, but you could help. We just have to get it soon, because a selkie without their pelt is a recipe for disaster.”

***

A few days later, Ryan follows Mark to the small boat he uses to get to the mainland and back. It’s small, barely big enough for the two of them, but it works well enough. The sun is going down, as they go back towards the mainland. Mark had already lit the lighthouse for the night, and it’ll guide them back to the island once Ryan gets his pelt back.

They land at the beach, which is about a mile from where Ryan’s pelt is being held. He hopes that they’ll have enough time to get his pelt before the family who was holding him gets home. 

“They go to church on Wednesday nights, so if we can get in there and get out before they get home, it’ll be okay.” Ryan says, as they walk down the road. There’s no one out tonight, he notices, as the wind howls as it blows through town. 

They get there eventually, but Ryan realizes something’s wrong when he sees that the lights are on in the front room. That’s a problem. There’s a back entrance to the house, and Ryan sneaks into the back yard, Mark following behind him. He’s got no clue if the back door is even open like it usually is. His hand lingers on the door knob for a moment, but he turns it, pushing the door open. 

It creaks open, and Ryan stops, stiffening in fear. He listens for footsteps, but hears nothing. The whole house is quiet, as he and Mark sneak into the kitchen. The only sound is the tv in the front room, talking to no one. 

Mark closes the door behind him, as Ryan watches out for the two of them. He’s got no clue where his pelt is, but he’s pretty sure it’s upstairs. He had seen it in the closet in the master bedroom the day before he left. 

“Do you know where to find your pelt?” Mark asks, looking over at Ryan.

“I’m pretty sure it’s upstairs. I can go up there, and you stay down here and keep an eye out.” Ryan says, looking over at the stairs. He makes his way upstairs, wincing at the creakiness of the boards. 

He reaches the second floor, and it’s a lot darker up there than he was anticipating. He reaches for the hall light switch, and flips it on, the light fixture flickering to life above his head. The master bedroom is down the hall a little ways, the door ajar. 

Ryan pushes it open, the door creaking a little on its hinges. They really need to oil their doors, but he realizes that’s the least of his problems. 

There’s a shout from downstairs, and Ryan almost runs down there, but he misses the chance, when he hears the bedroom door shut. He turns around and sees Nancy, dressed all nice, in the light blue dress she bought a few weeks ago. She’s holding Ryan’s pelt, and she definitely doesn’t look too keen on giving it back.

“Shit.”

***

Mark realizes they might be in trouble when the front door opens, and he sees a man and a woman walk into the house. They don’t notice him at first, but when they do, the man picks up the baseball bat sitting next to the door, and swings.

He misses, as he lunges at Mark, but hits him the second time, making contact with his side. Mark shouts, groaning. He’s not really sure what he just did, but he did something. The woman runs up the stairs, and Mark hears a loud thud. 

He manages to grab the man’s baseball bat, stopping him from bringing it down on Mark’s skull. Mark pushes him aside, and runs towards the stairs, climbing them two at a time. 

“Ryan! Are you okay?!” Mark shouts, running towards the open bedroom door. He skids into there, and sees the woman standing over Ryan’s body, a girl standing next to her, holding a sealskin coat. They both look up at Mark, surprised to see him standing in the doorway. 

“What do you want? He knows he shouldn’t have come back for his pelt.” The woman says, both of them looking over at Mark. He risks a glance back down at Ryan, noticing the small trickle of blood from his lips, and the awkward angle of his head. That’s not good. 

“What did you do to him?” Mark asks, looking up at the woman. She has a cruel smile on her face, like she’s proud of what she did to Ryan. Mark doesn’t even know if Ryan’s still alive. 

“It’s clearly none of your business! You’re not going to be able to save him at this point. The pelt has lost its magic.” She replies, and walks past Mark, jolting him. The girl follows, but the pelt slips out of her hands, the sealskin just slick enough that it’s hard to keep a tight grip on. 

She goes to grab it, but Mark is faster, grabbing it off the ground before she can. He’s faster than she is, getting to Ryan before either of them can react. Hearing the commotion, the woman turns around, and sees that Mark has the pelt in his hands, lets out a horrible shriek. She begins to crumble, her fingers dissolving as she watches. She crumbles to dust, and the girl screams, running down the stairs. 

He’s got a suspicion as to why the pelt wouldn’t work for the woman. It wasn’t hers to begin with. 

Mark lays it over Ryan’s still body, and prays that whatever magic it has will work, so he can get the both of them the hell out of there.

Mark watches Ryan, and for a few painstaking moments, it seems like nothing happens, but then Ryan gasps for air. 

“Holy shit, what happened?” Ryan asks, propping himself up on his elbows. Mark pulls him into a hug. He’s so glad that it worked like he was hoping it would. 

“I got your pelt back, that’s what happened.” Mark says, as Ryan runs his fingers over the soft fur. He’s quiet for a moment, revelling in the fact that the one thing he’s probably missed the most is back in his possession. 

“I appreciate it. I’ve really missed this thing, you know?” Ryan says, looking up at Mark. His eyes are full of hope, and Mark wants to lean down, and give Ryan a kiss. But he doesn’t, just helps him to his feet. Ryan puts on his coat, and wraps it around himself. 

“I can tell. Are you ready to head back?” Mark asks, looking over at Ryan. 

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

***

Ryan and Mark make it back to the boat, and Ryan stands there on the beach. The wind ruffles his hair, and he looks over at Mark, who’s working on getting the boat ready to sail back to the lighthouse. Ryan doesn’t want to get back in the boat though. The ocean calls his name, the pelt on his back pushing him towards the water.

“Hey Mark! Do you think it would be alright if I swam back to the lighthouse?” He asks, calling out over the wind. Mark looks up from where he’s holding a stretch of rope, working at undoing the knot. 

“Yeah, it would be fine with me! Just be careful, okay?” Mark says, and Ryan pulls the hood up over his head, and sprints head on towards the waves, his pelt covering him like a second skin. The ocean surrounds him like a hug as he slips beneath the waves. 

He dives and spins through the water, just like he did the first time he ever swam in his pelt. It’s like he never left.


End file.
